


You wanted to make me believe in love

by ShariDeschain



Category: Ragnarok (TV 2020)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Bondage, Episode Related, F/M, Knifeplay, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22928785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShariDeschain/pseuds/ShariDeschain
Summary: The giantess old in Ironwood sat,In the east, and bore the brood of Fenrir;Among these one in monster's guiseWas soon to steal the sun from the sky.Or, the one where Saxa thinks about her relationship with Fjor.
Relationships: Saxa Jutul/Fjor Jutul
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35
Collections: COW-T - the Clash Of the Writing Titans





	You wanted to make me believe in love

She wakes up in the morning under white sheets made of silk, the kiss of the first sunlight on her already warm skin, the smell of expensive incense in her nostrils, and all she can think about is Járnviðr, and the cold moon under which they used to fall asleep, the sharp smell of the ironwood trees around her and the muffled noises of the wild things hidden in the shadows, the tickle of the frozen dew on the grass blades under her when she rolled around in her sleep. 

She dresses up in her fancy new clothes, all plastics and synthetic materials, and amidst the stench of petroleum they radiate, she thinks about the smell of old leather and the softness of roughly handmade furs, spots of blood on wolf skins and the taste of meat between her teeth.

They had once owned nothing but the whole world, and it hadn't seemed like much to her at the time, but oh, to go back now and to walk again like a giant in the sunlight, to have all that power again and never have to hide it in front of anyone, be it man or god.

Now Saxa goes downstairs, takes a berry yogurt from the fridge for breakfast, and then she goes to school.

*

Ragnarok had never really been their business, after all it was supposed to be the end of the gods, not of the jötunns, for they were already there before this world was even made, before Asgard, before the first man and the first woman were brought alive. Ragnarok had only been one of many war for them, bloodier than others, sure, but they had fought it just the same, and they had neither won nor lost it, as it always happens with wars, but they had survived it, and that much had been enough.

Their real end had come later, and there were no wolves or serpents involved, it was not led by Surt or Loki on a fire ship, but by black-clothed pavid little men aboard wretched rafts, with crosses around their necks and no swords in their hands.

Amused at first, they had tried to fight the christian god like they had fought all the other gods until that very moment, and that had been their fatal mistake. You cannot defeat an enemy who refuses war, you cannot kill a god who is already dead: this, they had never known before. So they had destroyed, and killed, and terrified the christian men. They had made a mockery of crucifixes and churches, and with the wood and the stones they had made themselves weapons that had no effect against a faith built on peace and monotheism.

The christian god was slow, but lethal. The very people that had once been afraid of the jötunns name alone had turned them into wanderers, then ghosts, then children's fairy tales, and if a final blow was ever delivered, they never even noticed it. Within a few centuries there had been so few of them left, that fleeing had already become the only possible option, and when Vidar and Ren had found her and Fjor hiding in a cave and asked them to join their journey, they had accepted without regret.

Saxa still remembers the way Fjor had held her hand when they first stood on the top of the glacier, looking down on the valley below, where Edda was still nothing more than a newborn village, and they had believed, for the first time in years, that they'd be safe. 

Safe they have been, and safe they still are. And oh, what a bore it is.

*

They still hunt sometimes. Less and less now, what with satellites and mobile phones and surveillance systems spread all over the place. But the few times they manage to escape Vidar’s attention to run free in the mountains are the only times when Saxa feels alive again.

The woods of Edda are not Járnviðr, and the nights of the twenty-first century are not as dark and deadly as they were when she was young and hungry and so, so powerful. But the thrill and the bloodlust, well, those stayed the same. And it’s so satisfying to take off those beautiful, expensive clothes to stand naked in the cold, letting the white, smooth skin be brushed by the icy north wind, lay the perfect toenail-polished feet on the bare ground again, and feel the mud between her toes.

It’s also nice to feel Fjor’s hands on her body, those rough, violent fingers that leave red marks everywhere they touch, she likes feeling his muscles flexing against her, the mask of the polite boy long gone, twin set of eyes glowing red in the moonlight. They start running and the run soon turns into a chase, and they kill and sink their teeth into still warm flesh, and they feast together on their shared prey, howling and laughing at the stars above, allowing themselves to be free again, savage and unbothered by the world around them just like it used to be.

Sweet catch, sweetest sex. They lick the blood off each other's mouths and then they fight and they bite and they scratch until one of them yields, and there's merit in surrendering as there's merit in conquering, and what Saxa likes is what Fjor likes, and she calls him _my wolf_ and he calls her _my queen_ , and for a moment in time they go back to when the worlds were bursting with magic and sparks of it flickered through them without even having to ask for it.

“Tell me you love me”, Fjor asks sometimes, as they lay side to side under the trees.

And Saxa laughs and grabs him by the hair and kisses him with cracked lips.

“What’s love for us?”, she taunts him. “What’s love when there is no one else, when we are all that we have?”

She knows those words always make him angry, and he pushes her on her back, viciously, squeezing her throat with one unmerciful hand.

“Tell me you love _me_ ”, he orders her, fire in his eyes, and she used to think it was all out of jealousy, and it sounded so ridiculous to her that he could be jealous of anyone or anything, she would laugh until Fjor, in his rage, came very close to choking her. Now she knows it was something else entirely.

_Do you see me, am I real to you_ , _do I matter in any way_ , that's what he was asking all those times, shameless and without dignity.

He started reeking of humanity long before she even thought about checking for it.

*

Humans in general mean nothing to her. It’s just that, albeit inferior, they’re the only other sentient creatures around beside her family. And Saxa has to admit they can be fun sometimes, given enough alcohol or drugs. Still, things like love or hate or anything above a bland curiosity really, are foreign feelings to her when they’re involved.

She makes the first exception for the girl, this blonde, insipid thing that Fjor claims to love.

“I’m going to kill her”, she tells him, and he moans, bent on his knees, blindfolded, with his wrists tied to the footboard behind him with leather laces he’s not going to be able to break that easily even if he tried. He’s not going to try though, because he deserves this, and he knows it.

“I’m going to eat her heart out”, she continues, and the flames of the fireplace make the gold knife in her hand shine. “I'll let you have a piece of it, if you behave like a good boy.”

“Saxa, please.”

She cuts him on one cheek, then on the other. She does it slowly, to amplify the pain, and the drops of blood look like tears on Fjor’s face. What she can not forgive is the idea that he likes this joke of a life so much that he’s actually taking it seriously. What she can not forget is that he thought, even for the split of a moment, that _a human_ mattered more than her.

“Tell me you love me”, she says.

Fjor doesn’t answer, so she cuts him again, on the bare chest this time. She carves the runes that in the old language used to spell out her name on her brother’s skin, and she enjoys every whine, every shiver that makes Fjor’s body shake under her touch.

“Tell me you love me”, she repeats.

“I don’t.”

Saxa smiles. By the end of the night he’ll profess his undying love for her one hundred and one more times, and it still won't be enough to win her forgiveness. It's just about as good a way as any to pass the time.

*

She remembers how in the early days Fjor used to come into her bed every night, and they would both loathe their new smell, so artificial and strange, but at the same time being close to each other seemed like the only cure to the absurdity that was mingling with what had once been their food, a madness that had been imposed on them by Vidar’s survival plan.

In the beginning she had enjoyed it a lot more than he had: it had been fun to her to feel the taste of new words on her tongue, to call Fjor _brother_ , and Vidar _father_ , and Ren _mother_. It had been fun to wear those complicated clothes and see the lust in the eyes of the men, make them following her around like lost puppies.

All in all, she had enjoyed it as long as they could still dance and drink mead in front of a wildfire, but soon enough the word _witch_ had begun to spread around, and they were forced to stop and retreat. She had not liked the Middle Ages at all.

Still, the memories of those long gone nights are still sweet on the mind, especially now that Fjor's become a stranger to her. He doesn’t come into her bed anymore, doesn’t pull the sheets over their heads to create the illusion of a private shelter, doesn’t even kiss her with that urgency that once upon a time had meant that maybe the world had become a inhospitable place, but they were still together, so life couldn’t be that bad.

That too was something she had never appreciated enough, and sometimes, in the darkness of her own thoughts, Saxa wonders if, after all, this is exactly what her problem is: not being able to appreciate the present-time and only be able to live in a past that has ceased to exist too long ago to be relevant anymore.

*

“I’ll kill her”, Fjor says, and Saxa looks up from her jewellery box to meet the reflection of her brother’s eyes into the mirror. The bruises Vidar had left on him are already gone, and so are the cuts of her knife. Fjor’s face is beautiful and pale as ever, and if Saxa only wanted to, they could almost pretend nothing ever happened.

“Good for you”, she answers cooly, as she pulls out her pearl earrings.

“I’ll do it today, at the assembly.”

_And what will that change_ , she wonders, but doesn’t ask. She puts the pearls on, then she starts fixing the hairpins to keep the hat in place. The bunad is still on its hanger, just waiting to be donned, but when she stands up and goes pick it wearing nothing but the pearls and the hat, she knows Fjor isn’t even looking at her.

“Don’t get too much blood on that jacket, I like it and it’s Gucci”, she comments.

Fjor stays quiet as she dresses up. Saxa manages to put on the stockings, the petticoat, the blouse and she’s just slipping into the dress when she feels Fjor's hands tightening around her hips, his mouth pressing against the nape of her neck.

“I love you”, he says, and she closes her eyes. It would be nice if those words could still mean something to her, but he’s used them for a human, so really, what’s the point?

“If you wrinkle my dress I’ll cut your throat. For real this time”, she snaps, swatting his hands away. 

“I said-”

“I heard what you said”, she interrupts him. “Now stop with the bullshit and get to work.”

Fjor immediately backs down, he doesn't answer, doesn’t get angry, doesn’t even try to fight back. And when he finally leaves her room, Saxa feels like crying for the first time in decades.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the COWT #10 @ landedifandom, prompt was _You wanted to make me believe in love_ @ Editors.


End file.
